


Second Wind

by grayorca, YearwalktheWorld



Series: Skynet [3]
Category: Castle Rock (TV), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Drama, Family, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 06:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca/pseuds/grayorca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: Wings AU. One of these things is... kinda like the others?





	Second Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly serious, slightly cracky.
> 
> Just how we like it. :3
> 
> Parts 1 and 2, recommended reading. Obviously.

_Detective Gavin Reed_

_1301 3rd Avenue, Central Station, Detroit, Michigan_

_“Whenever, wherever… whatever.”_ ****  
** **

Complete with a stylized clipart logo of a steaming coffee mug in the bottom right corner, the supposed ‘business card’ being presented to him looked equal parts professional and not. The chosen font was decidedly floral. ****  
** **

“Okay, which one of you fuckers actually wasted your time making these?”  ****  
** **

Blue eyes quirking up, safely seated behind the desk, Dennis put on the most innocent expression he could - purportedly, it was pretty believable. He simply didn’t have to break it out very often. ****  
** **

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Detective.” ****  
** **

Snatching the card away, Gavin leaned in and scowled at him, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You sure of that, Dents? This seems right up your alley.”  ****  
** **

Since when? Did he honestly seem the type to set time and computing power aside for practical jokes? ****  
** **

Affecting an affronted look, Dennis abruptly sat back in his chair, recreating a healthy gap of personal distance. “I’m sure as I am not I had nothing to do with it. …Why does it offend you so, anyway?” ****  
** **

“You kiddin’ me? Someone here obviously thinks I talk too much, or some shit,” Gavin huffed, before a smirk settled on his face for all of five seconds. It was clear he didn't actually take this ‘offense’ as seriously as he was playing at. “Clever bastard, whoever made these.”  ****  
** **

Shaking his head, Dennis moved to set his hands back on the keyboard. “I’ll be sure to pass along your compliments, if the guilty party feels a sudden, compulsive need to confess to me.” ****  
** **

“Yeah, yeah, smartass, and you wonder why I thought it was you.” Walking over, the detective slapped one of the many business cards onto the desk. “I'm handin’ them out, then. Gotta see what the reactions are around here, see if I can catch whoever did it.”  ****  
** **

_That’s one way to utilize them._ ****  
** **

Keeping his mouth in neutral, Dennis resumed typing. ****  
** **

The Overclocked matter still needed collating. Reed has his own backlog of cases to address. Figuring out who was responsible for his gag gift of faux business cards would hopefully proved secondary. ****  
** **

Because when one detective didn’t pull their weight, those same cases tended to radiate out and draw in the likes of Anderson and Collins. The latter usually took to the surplus investigations with no big fuss given, but the former… ****  
** **

At the moment, Hank was rather indisposed in trying to integrate an unexpected fourth prototype RK into their daily regimen. ****  
** **

Dennis knew better than to feed any fires the lieutenant would inevitably be called on to put out. ****  
** **

It wouldn’t endear him any. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

_“RK900, huh? Best of the best… and they couldn’t even give you a unique face.”_ ****  
** **

And if anyone had a right to be upset about this, Connor supposed it was him. But complaining wouldn’t simply make the matter go away. For the time being, he comforted himself with the knowledge he wasn’t immediately being recalled to the Tower, nor were either of his partners. ****  
** **

Apparently, they were welcome to remain with the DPD, to at least become casually acquainted with his like-faced variant. ****  
** **

At the moment, this involved standing by in the near-darkened observation room, while Hank Anderson circled the ‘suspect’ seated, uncuffed, at the interrogation table. ****  
** **

Standing next to Connor, Nick did what he did best - fretted. ****  
** **

“What does this even _mean_ ?” Nick wrung his hands, staring at the new android through the one-way glass with wide eyes. “Why would they bring in a - a new one? Connor, this doesn't make sense, he's not even nice!”  ****  
** **

Nice. ****  
** **

Of course their third’s first concern would be the demeanor of this near-stranger. ****  
** **

_(“Identify yourself!” Overcoming whatever stubbed delay it registered, the tern-winged droid wasn’t shy about making an introduction - at gunpoint - even as Nick backpedaled from where he had landed, too close to the courier’s offline body)_ ****  
** **

With a quiet sigh, Connor glanced sidelong at his taller partner. “Regardless, if this prototype is here on the same orders we are, the DPD must accommodate it.” ****  
** **

After a quiet moment, Nick sighed, and pouted at the android through the glass. “I'm so done with new people, there's been too many already. Hopefully he starts acting nicer around here.”  ****  
** **

Perhaps the RK900 could be counted as a lesser evil. ****  
** **

“Well, if it’s any consolation, at least Charlie didn’t pull a gun on you the day we met?” ****  
** **

“Very funny. …But yes, I am grateful only _one_ new person I've met this week has pulled a gun on me.” His expression turned into what might have been a glare if he still didn't look so irate. “Course it had to be him. …How is Charlie, though? After Henry?”  ****  
** **

Now there was a subject best left alone for some time. But knowing there was actual little chance of dodging the matter indefinitely, Connor explained: ****  
** **

“Miss Strand came to the station, looking to collect him. She was never on her way to Zug Island. Her priority was rounding up her employees, once it became apparent Henry was offline. …Dennis pulled the contact information to inform her and Miss Torrance, as we failed to convince Charlie to.” ****  
** **

Not to mention the allocated supply of insulin that needed to be forwarded to its original destination. ****  
** **

Nick let out a little hiss of air at the information. “That's rough. And now… he's here, to help us solve this, about Henry and what happened to Charlie? Doesn't seem like we would need any more help.”  ****  
** **

“If it were here to help, the number on the jacket would be the same as ours.” Flat as he sounded, Connor didn’t bother to sugarcoat his tone. “It’s not about assistance. It’s about competition.” ****  
** **

“Competition?” Nick's eyebrows creased at the notion. “But…why? There's no need for that. We can work together to solve the case, it would end better for everyone.”  ****  
** **

“Do you really think that’s what CyberLife wants? Wake up, Nick. There’s an obvious divide here we’re meant to respect. You were just saying how ‘mean’ it was a moment ago.” ****  
** **

“I am awake,” he muttered, giving Connor a sideways look - they would be intimidating in their own right, if not for his softhearted persona getting in the way. “Yeah, he _was_ mean, but I thought maybe he was just startled, or something! CyberLife is out of their minds if they think a competition will do anyone any good. It's… it's a crime scene, not a talent show!”  ****  
** **

“And I’m not saying it’s right, their treating it like one. But what choice do we have? Unless instructions are passed along to us, explicitly stating that is what CyberLife expects - ” ****  
** **

_“Ey, boys?”_ Rapping his knuckles on the window, Hank Anderson put the burgeoning argument on hold. _“You thinkin’ of joining us in here sometime soon?”_ ****  
** **

Nick looked at him, expression changing to one more worried and unsure of himself - looking for guidance - as always. “You go first, please.”  ****  
** **

Connor squinted. ****  
** **

_I don’t think so. You’re so convinced we can get along?_ ****  
** **

With no pause for an answer, he grabbed Nick by the elbow. ****  
** **

_You can come with._ ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

The interrogation room door opened, and he was unceremoniously shoved through. ****  
** **

With a dubious glower, Anderson stepped sideways to get out of the way. “Easy, kid. Didn’t think you were that eager.” ****  
** **

He wasn’t. ****  
** **

Nick took a stumbling step to right himself, turning around to whine at the already-shut door. No way did he want to be in a room with the new android, especially after what had happened. In fact, he was the last one out of any of them who should face their supposed competition first - he would not paint them in the best light, to put it nicely.  ****  
** **

“I wasn't, Connor forced me,” he mumbled, turning back around to Hank, arms crossed with indignation. However this went, he could at least rest assured he could blame it on Connor, if it went poorly. ****  
** **

The policeman raised an eyebrow at said door, silently doing the math before finding a convenient spot on the wall to lean. Doing so left the spare chair empty.  “Well, I’m not gonna pretend I can do anythin’ about it right now. Just say hello, he doesn’t bite.” ****  
** **

No. Only threatens someone with a gun for innocently landing, sure. ****  
** **

Even if said landing was done at the scene of a crime, it seemed unnecessarily intense. ****  
** **

Nick was definitely _not_ qualified to handle this encounter, in any means, but if Connor was going to try and force it, he would play along, however sulky he would be.  ****  
** **

“Hello,” he said after a moment, staring at the seated android nervously, half expecting the gun to come out again (despite knowing it had been confiscated). His hands automatically found their way to each other again, twisting with latent fear. “I'm Nick.”  ****  
** **

The expression didn’t change. With the exact same unblinking stare as Connor, the RK900 locked eyes with him and said nothing. Seated in the chair, hands resting on the table, it could almost pass for a statue. ****  
** **

The awkward silence went on to the point Anderson had to prod. “Yeah… he’s… not very talkative, except when he isn’t.” ****  
** **

The staring dragged on, making him twist his hands faster. Being under such a watchful gaze, from this android or anyone else, always made Nick feel even more nervous than he already naturally did. “You're… it's not polite to stare. You're supposed to look away sometimes, so you don't make someone nervous.”  ****  
** **

Anderson have a low laugh at that. “Kid, you’ll find this guy has a lot to learn on what’s polite versus what ain’t. What you saw out on the island was him in his element. Here… he’s like a blank slate.” ****  
** **

Nick couldn't help but frown at that. Like a blank slate? That was sort of sad, the idea that this new android didn't have any personality yet, nothing to explore.  ****  
** **

It wasn’t deliberately being rude. It didn’t know better. ****  
** **

“Well… he can learn, then.” Maybe it was just him being too naïve, or friendly, but there was no need for any competition or rivalry, not if Nick could help it. Contrary to what Connor may think - or might have thought, before Charlie it seemed - kindness could go a long way in helping someone. “I can help him.”  ****  
** **

Approving, Hank nodded and folded his arms. “Proceed.” ****  
** **

What he meant by the word - was clearly open to interpretation. ****  
** **

Creeping a bit closer to the android, Nick tried a different tactic. “What's your name, then? You know mine… it would be nice to know yours, now.”  ****  
** **

The stare persisted. The eyes themselves weren’t all too odd. Besides the blue-gray hue of the irises, they were the exact same shape, dimensions, and placement as Connor’s. ****  
** **

Holding the staredown a few seconds longer, the RK900 glanced aside. The LED flickered yellow before cycling back to blue. ****  
** **

Timidly, almost, a private comm request popped up before Nick’s eyes. ****  
** **

Looking on, Anderson spotted the minute movement for what it was. He had suffered being left out of enough unspoken chatter to know the signs. “Shit. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s shy.” ****  
** **

“That's okay,” Nick answered them both simultaneously, accepting the request with a smile. Perhaps it was again, just his nature, but he couldn't help to try and set the android at ease, to help him be as comfortable as possible. He, of all people, knew how nerve wracking the big, wide, open world could be. “We can talk any way you want.”  ****  
** **

_Through here, too, if you're most comfortable with this._ ****  
** **

Feeling shy or somehow abashed at his prior behavior, maybe it was just as the lieutenant said: the newer prototype wasn’t finding its surroundings very familiar. Regardless of how intrinsically it had been programmed, thrown out to see the world before it was ready - there was another solid reason for its laconicness. ****  
** **

Or maybe it was just conscientious of the fact it looked too much like it’s RK800 predecessor. ****  
** **

_…I wasn’t… sure if it would work._ Eyes still aimed elsewhere, one of the nameless android’s fingers tensed. The nails scraped the table. _We weren’t - supposed to meet like this._ ****  
** **

How were they supposed to meet? Nick almost asked the question, before tossing the impulse aside. It would do no good to try and pry any information out of him, not when he appeared somewhat bewildered and tense.  ****  
** **

_Okay. I can definitely see how this can be startling, for both of us, then._ Nick walked even closer, until he was right by the chair across from the RK900. _…Is it all right, if you tell me your name? Do you have one?_ ****  
** **

The LED cycled again, brightening to a lighter shade of blue before cooling. The face itself didn’t move. ****  
** **

_Our programmers… they called me Conner. C-O-N-N-E-R. But I already know this poses a kind of… social discrepancy, for you and your partners. I don’t… I didn’t intend for it to. But there was no refusing them._ ****  
** **

_That's okay,_ Nick tried to soothe him, smiling again to show it was indeed all right. Of course CyberLife wouldn't care that the two names were almost identical, almost as close as their looks, that really, there was no distinguishing between them. It wasn't Conner's fault that his name was what it was. _I understand. If you wish, we can always find a - nickname for you, later on. Or if you like Conner, you can go by that. Whatever you want, we're okay with._ ****  
** **

The reassurances didn’t go over the prototype’s head. Briefly, his eyes quirked up and over. Maybe it was the promise of finding a secondary name somewhere down the road. Maybe it was just the unquestioning acceptance. ****  
** **

Either possibility had merit. ****  
** **

But by the way Conner focused on the door’s access panel with such sharpness, and the panel’s once-locked, red handprint interface went white, he wasn’t about to sit around and hear more. ****  
** **

Not if he didn’t want to. ****  
** **

“If that’s all, Nick, there are cases I must attend to.” ****  
** **

“Wait, wait, hold the phone.” Anderson stepped sideways, pressing a hand to the lock to re enable it. “You’re not goin’ anywhere until you explain what you were doing out on Zug Island.” ****  
** **

“He was investigating, right?” Nick answered for him, not willing to hold him inside the room any longer if he didn't want to. That he seemed to be able to disable locks with just a look was as impressive as it was daunting. “Just like I was going to do. He was doing his job, Lieutenant.”  ****  
** **

“His job,” Anderson parroted the words without a hint of amusement. “He looks more like a guinea pig that got out of his cage when the scientists weren’t watchin’. At least the lot of you turned up with mission statements to recite. This guy’s got nothin’.” ****  
** **

“I know, but look at him, Hank.” Nick gestured to Conner, shrugging as he did so. “He's obviously here to help, same as we are. …If you really need it, I can try and contact CyberLife to confirm, but he wants to get out right now.”  ****  
** **

Same way he didn't like being held anywhere against his will. There was no valid reason for Nick to advocate they do the same to Conner, not when the new Interceptor showed he wanted to do something else.  ****  
** **

Whether it was his desire, or just his program following its usual course, that much couldn’t be distinguished yet. ****  
** **

Hand still on the lock, Anderson scowled. “Some _official_ word would be nice. Yes, Nick, if you don’t mind. He’s not goin’ anywhere until they confirm he didn’t fly the coop.” ****  
** **

Nick glanced back at Conner, eyebrows raised at the thought of someone like him flying the coop, so to speak. Already, he looked too straight laced to be a rule breaker - the exact opposite of Charlie. _Don't worry. I'm sure you didn't, but I'll check with CyberLife anyways, if only to make Hank feel better._ ****  
** **

Very slightly, the prototype frowned. ****  
** **

_…Is maintaining his comfort that much of a priority?_ ****  
** **

Perhaps not to everyone. But working with Hank, Nick at least always strived to keep him happy, as well as everyone else, as much as he could.  ****  
** **

_To me, at least, it is._ Nick gave him another small smile, before turning to try and get in touch with CyberLife, and confirm what he already knew.  ****  
** **

That way everyone was happy. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Today, the landing ledge doors of the Overclocked depot stayed shut. The twenty-three remaining android couriers were effectively grounded, until further notice. Rattled as they were, neither Molly or Jackie were very forthcoming with information. Business could only be stymied for so long before the quarterly profit margins shrunk too small. ****  
** **

At the moment, Charlie didn’t exactly care. He sat in one of the windowed alcoves looking down on the Brightmoor District, and thought. ****  
** **

Getting picked up by Molly and driving home had been quiet, no real words exchanged between them for almost the whole ride. And now, inside, with no runs to go on, he had fled away from the others, not wanting anyone to see if he started crying.  ****  
** **

The urge was strong. Now would probably be one time he was okay with himself crying. He could understand that Henry wasn't coming back, and even as an android, his first real brush with a death - or did they still call it just shutdown? - was hard, to say the least.  ****  
** **

Not to add to the fact that two traumatic events had happened to him within minutes, it felt like. Both ordeals left him shaking as he closed his eyes to try and steady his breathing, even if he didn't need it, knees tucked up to his chest so he could wind one arm around them.  ****  
** **

Apparently, he hadn’t made his exit quietly enough. ****  
** **

Moments later, he heard hasty footsteps, then felt a thud through the floor as someone sat down beside him. Before he thought to tell whoever it was to get lost, an arm and an accompanying wing cupped themselves over his far shoulder. ****  
** **

“So this is the best hiding place you could think of?” ****  
** **

Because Joey was never one for ceremony, respecting personal distances, or taking things serious at first glance. ****  
** **

Charlie opened his eyes and turned to look at him, scooching himself closer to Joey after a moment. Once Joey had his mind made up about something, it was best to give in if one didn't really mind.  ****  
** **

“Best I could think of on short notice.”  ****  
** **

With a short scoff, Joey’s arm lifted to ruffle his colleague’s hair. “I didn’t think you were one to want to run off and mope, either, Charlie. _Relax_ , you’re safe now.” ****  
** **

He turned his head quickly, trying to keep some semblance of composure in Joey's presence. Much as he knew it was true, it was still hard to convince himself that any of them were safe anymore, not after what happened to Henry.  ****  
** **

“I'm not moping, just thinking. I like to look outside when we're stuck inside.” He answered, not addressing the latter half of Joey's comment.  ****  
** **

“Uh huh. You’re a real loner type like that.”  ****  
** **

Seemingly full of inexhaustible energy, Joey could be tiring to endure sometimes, in his own loveable way, and usually Charlie was all up for him, looking forward to talking at the end of the long day. But halfway curled up against him, for perhaps one of the first times ever, Charlie wanted Joey to just stop.  ****  
** **

“Maybe I am,” he said flatly, turning his face back around to look at Joey. Screw it, if he was going to cry, at least now he had company who wouldn't make fun of him, at least not in the moment. “I just don't feel good right now.”  ****  
** **

“And this isn’t helping?” Smirking, somehow able to make it look sympathetic, Joey gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You don’t gotta say what happened. Molly’s already told us about the near miss you had.” ****  
** **

Charlie couldn't help but give a small smile at Joey, just for his sheer enthusiasm at even dark topics. “You know, if this is your way to try and cheer me up, it's a little confusing.”  ****  
** **

Mockingbird wings couldn’t be a better fit for the redheaded android. Whatever the situation, he was forever adaptable to matching the tone, then somehow improving upon it. ****  
** **

Small wonder why he was Jackie’s de facto favorite. ****  
** **

“Hey, if you’re confused, at least you’re not sad, right?” ****  
** **

“I understand the logic,” Charlie smiled wider at him, curling up further so he could rest his head on his shoulder. If there was one thing that Joey liked to dole out to him, it was physical comfort. “But I think I can feel more than one emotion at a time, funnily enough.”  ****  
** **

“Funny… well, I’m not laughing.” A mote of seriousness emerged in Joey’s voice. But he didn’t draw away. “I was worried. Had some boxes of forms to drop off at the university. Jackie called all of us back the moment Molly said Henry went off the radar. Almost like she knew something was up. After the flea market, I thought they were just playing it safe.” ****  
** **

Charlie shrugged, unsure of what to say back. Joey wasn't ordinarily serious, not even at dark times, so for him to freely admit to being worried threw him off just a bit. “Good thing she did, though, right? Who knows what could've happened? Even if they were just playing it safe, after what happened…” ****  
** **

“I didn’t think anything so… _extreme_ would come from it,” Joey admitted. “I mean, not that I’m blaming you, but you know how much humans like to hold grudges, or adopt new ones.” ****  
** **

The idea that what happened to Henry could be his fault had entered Charlie's head once or twice before he banished the thought away. But to hear Joey, not even blaming him, put it into words made his face crumple at the idea. “You think…maybe they hurt Henry because of me? That's not - he didn't do anything. I did.”  ****  
** **

“I’m not saying it’s because of you. Humans will take any excuse to blame each other for their troubles, before androids were ever there for blaming.” Joey shrugged with his free arm. “Could be, it’s something else entirely. But you got friends at the DPD now, you know they’ll be looking into it, yeah?” ****  
** **

“Yeah. Connor said he would, at least,” Charlie looked away to peer out the window again. If it wasn't for their impromptu shutdown, everyone would be out at the moment, delivering whatever they had been given. “He's like, the best they got, so hopefully they figure it out soon.”  ****  
** **

Joey grinned. “You’re holding those sunglasses for him, remember? He’ll make it a top priority.” ****  
** **

“Yeah, I'm sure that's exactly why,” he shook his head at him, but still smiled back afterwards. Only Joey would be able to take a conversation on as many turns as he had in such a short time and get away with it. “Guess I'll hold onto them a while longer.”  ****  
** **

_Or as long as it takes. Solving crime can’t be rushed._ ****  
** **

The best he could do was not make any more a distraction of himself. ****  
** **

Arduous though it would be.

****

——- ****  
** **

CyberLife - for all their faults - was typically pretty good about returning calls. Especially when the caller happened to have an inbuilt phone, the idea of being put ‘on hold’ was practically laughable. ****  
** **

Dennis didn’t intend to share the news anytime soon. Right now, waiting out a response from their programmers had the RKs on standby. ****  
** **

All four of them. ****  
** **

Nick was in his standard position on one of the overhead perches - knees up, arms around them, head down. But instead of them being closed, he kept glancing back and forth between the remaining three Interceptors. ****  
** **

Or, at least, Dennis assumed their RK900 visitor was to be regarded as such. CyberLife designs usually only warranted a two-lettered model number and standard serial. Was this white-jacketed lookalike an Interceptor, or something new altogether? ****  
** **

At the moment, it didn’t appear to be stewing on the fact they were stuck, waiting on orders. Situated on one metallic post directly across the room, the android kept its eyes down. Meticulously, it was preening the feathers of its left wing. Repeated strokes from its slightly-oiled fingers realigned the fibers, tightening up any loose patches that might eventually impair flight. ****  
** **

Not a bad idea, all things considered. The weather had turned nasty once more. Rain lashed the station windows in sheets. The most optimistic forecast predicted the storm, at the forehead of a massive low front system, would cease in six hours’ time. ****  
** **

They may as well see to routine maintenance. ****  
** **

With this in mind, Dennis paid a silent, prompting glance to their displaced third’s tattered primaries. There were several noticeable gaps in the blue barbs. ****  
** **

Nick looked back at him after a moment, then down to where he was looking. He was perhaps the worst when it came to actually grooming his wings, especially with how he allowed them to drag on the ground without a second thought, only taking the time to clean them when someone else pointed it out for him.  ****  
** **

After another moment of looking at them with Dennis, he sighed, stretched to where he could reach them, and began to run his fingers through the feathers half heartedly.  ****  
** **

_I won’t say anything. You’ve heard it all before._ ****  
** **

Settling with his back against a wall, Dennis angled one of his own wings out, curving it around to do the same. Keeping them clean and orderly ensured healthy regrowth. ****  
** **

He glanced down. Even the chatter of the squad room below them sounded rather subdued. As if the city itself knew bad weather was reason enough to behave itself, the incoming calls decreased, the dispatch announcements grew more infrequent. ****  
** **

Even Lieutenant Anderson had his headphones on, eyes glued to his computer screen. ****  
** **

_Hopefully Connor won't be in too bad a mood,_ Nick looked over at the near-mute prototype again, and shrugged. _With the weather, and Conner, now._ ****  
** **

Said android sat cross legged on a perch of his own, shoulders slightly bent forward. Without looking, he rolled a quarter around and through his knuckles - first one way, and then back again. ****  
** **

LED blinking, Dennis scanned to be sure. His wings were already immaculate. No need to preen. ****  
** **

_I don’t know… what do you think he looks up for right now - small talk, or light criticism?_ ****  
** **

Taking a glance over to him, Nick shrugged. _Honestly, neither. When the weather's like this, we're not the ones who can pull him out of that bad mood. But what kind of criticism do you mean?_ ****  
** **

_The self-depreciating kind. This has to be an eye-opener - he’s not a unique model after all. That’s… beat, as Charlie would say._ ****  
** **

Nick chanced a soft huff of amusement at the hard-won use of the word. _It must be, yeah. But it's not either of their faults, and we don't want Connor at his throat, right? I don't care what CyberLife might say about some competition, that's not happening._ ****  
** **

_Your grasp of idealism never ceases to amaze, Nick._ Turning back to his featherwork, Dennis frowned. _Competition is all business is about. Whatever bolsters profits. Why do you think we were ever sent here to begin with?_ ****  
** **

_To help people,_ Nick insisted, abandoning his wings altogether. _And competition doesn't help with that. If we're all here to help, then we shouldn't ever compete with each other. It's not about who does something first, it's about how we can help._ ****  
** **

Disquieting as the notion of their reality was, Dennis explained: ****  
** **

_Yes. It’s that, and you know CyberLife’s idea of who helps the police most efficiently will be the bedrock standard for which one of us is mass produced. They don’t build androids to be unique. And by this development, I’d say our two colleagues have an unfair advantage already._ ****  
** **

Nick grimaced at the knowledge, but didn't seem too surprised. _Yeah… I don't think we're exactly front runners, Dennis, I can agree with that. That's very - I don't like that, though. It's not fair, to anyone involved in the actual competition._ ****  
** **

_CyberLife doesn’t care about fair._ Dennis retorted, unable to help a sullen glance at the triangular logo on his chest. _Whatever sells the most units, that’s their bottom line. We can only hope we’re cut loose by the end of the trial phase._ ****  
** **

_…But even then, what happens after that?_ Nick's hands tightened into fists over the unjustness of it all, but not with any real anger, more despair than anything else. _We don't have any rights, we can't get a job, or anything like that… I don't wanna think about it._ ****  
** **

_I’d rather think of it now and have a plan for later, rather than no plan at all._ ****  
** **

_Then what's your plan? Because I don't exactly see how this can end in any good way for us._ ****  
** **

_Well, here’s some good news, then - we’re not gonna get outmoded._ ****  
** **

Nick narrowed his eyes at him, but visibly relaxed. _We're…we're not?_ ****  
** **

Dennis kept a blank face, even as he dialed the commlink volume up. What came next would depend on it. ****  
** **

_No. …Why? Because we’ve already_ **_been_ ** _outmoded._ ****  
** **

_What?!_ Nick started at the increase in volume, and the sudden words. _We've already been outmoded?_ ****  
** **

_Two RKs with the exact same face have turned up here, as opposed to you or me. What would you call that? And don’t get me started on the data caches. You wouldn’t know they were there, buried under all that wireless correspondence, but I found ‘em._ ****  
** **

_What about the data caches?_ Wide eyed, Nick unwound himself to fully turn and face Dennis, one hand going up to nervously run through his hair. _What did you find, Dennis?_ ****  
** **

_Oh, nothing major - just a couple of possible decommission slips, with serial fields blank and ready to be filled out at a moment’s notice._ ****  
** **

_We're gonna be decommissioned?!_ Nick began to tremble, head shaking at the mere thought. _Oh, jeez, I think I'm having a panic attack, Dennis._ ****  
** **

_You don’t get it, Nick. I haven’t had anyone to talk to about the data caches. Can we talk about the caches, please? I’ve been dyin’ to talk to_ someone _about the data caches!_ ****  
** **

The clinking of the rotating quarter stopped. ****  
** **

_Dennis. You can drop the Manic Philadelphian act any time now._ ****  
** **

Almost to tears, Nick sniffled and looked over at Connor with watery eyes, breath hitched in anticipation of whatever Dennis was going to say. _What do you mean? Stop listening, Connor, Dennis is telling me something important._ ****  
** **

_It’s not all bad. I was able to intercept the caches before they were ever sent to Captain Fowler’s computer. Now they’re halfway to Siberia._ ****  
** **

_Dennis!_ ****  
** **

Caught between the two of them, Nick let out a whimper and narrowed his eyes at Dennis with some suspicion. _Wait - are you making fun of me? You better not be, I think I'm having a legitimate panic attack because of you._ ****  
** **

_A legitimate one?_ Dennis stifled a laugh, hand over his mouth. Not a single set of eyes beneath them had turned upward. _How is that different from any of the others?_ ****  
** **

_You - you jerk!_ Nick took another short breath, trying to calm himself down, before a few disbelieving tears spilled over. _What were you even trying to reference?!_ ****  
** **

“ _It’s Always_ **_Sunny_ ** _in Philadelphia_ ,” Dennis retorted, with an angry glare at the nearest rain-covered window. “Seemed like a good time to try it on you.” ****  
** **

Nick gave an angry huff before pivoting his body around, so that his back was to Dennis, arms crossed and head down so there was no chance the other android could catch a glimpse of him.  ****  
** **

_Aww, what? You wanna pout now?_ Smirking, Dennis inched sideways along his perch, stepping onto what little space there was, directly next to him. Their shoulders touched, there was barely enough room. _Can’t take a joke?_ ****  
** **

Nick let out an angry whine at the contact, jerking his shoulder away as much as he could, not understanding that it was his reactions that kept egging Dennis on. _No! Leave me alone, if you want to act like that._ ****  
** **

“Nah, I don’t think so.” Twisting around, he grabbed for one of the unattended swallow wings, with its sorry-looking feathers. “You need to work on gettin’ these back in shape, besides just lightening up in general.” ****  
** **

Nick reached back to push him away, still genuinely upset at being tricked by Dennis. “Let go! Go bother someone else. You can be a real jerk, sometimes, I don't wanna deal with it right now.” ****  
** **

Somehow, he leaned into the shove and managed to keep his balance. “You _never_ want to deal with it. That’s your problem. Y’know, the sooner you do, the sooner it’s over with.” ****  
** **

“Fine, _fine_ !” In a flash, Nick had one of his wings twisted around so it was in his lap, dragging his fingers through the feathers forcefully, to get rid of the snags.  ****  
** **

Stifling a laugh, Dennis crept back to his own perch, arcing his unattended right wing forward for inspection. ****  
** **

It had taken a very roundabout method, but at least he had convinced him. Each of them was adept at the process in some way. Whether it was talking down a suspect or inspiring a partner to actually take care of themselves, that was what RKs were good at. ****  
** **

All the more reason the RK900’s silence was so unnerving. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

As if Dennis being downright _cruel_ wasn’t enough, Detective Reed just had to pile it on once he went back to floor level. All that time spent on grooming his neglected wings, and the moment one tip touched the floor, Gavin swiveled his chair around to stomp on it. ****  
** **

His aim was impeccable. ****  
** **

“Ey, Eights, got a second?” ****  
** **

Gritting his teeth at the shoe on his wing, Nick tried to gently tug it away, before giving up. Trying harder would only result in the loss of a feather or two. “What do you want, Detective?”  ****  
** **

Smirking, Reed held up a small white card between his index and middle fingers. “Know anythin’ about how _these_ found their way into my possession?” ****  
** **

He squinted at the card, eyebrows furrowed as he read it. Why would he know anything about some joke cards, of all people? That was way more Dennis's style out of any of them. It was obvious he had a taste for practical jokes.  ****  
** **

“No.” Nick shrugged, before trying to tug his wing away, again to no avail. “Please, let me go.”  ****  
** **

The smirk dropped. The foot remained planted where it was. “Any ideas who would? I’m runnin’ out of people to ask.” ****  
** **

“I dunno, ask Dennis if you haven't already.” Instead of his usual nervous mumble, Nick wasn't in the mood to even be fearful of Reed. All he wanted was to be let go. “Let me go, I don't know who gave you that.”  ****  
** **

“Any chance it was ol’ Bright Eyes up there?” Gavin nodded toward the high-domed ceiling. “He seem like a jokester?” ****  
** **

“No, he doesn't. Besides, why would he give you a gag gift, as his first order of business?” Nick crossed his arms but didn't try to move again, knowing he would have to stay until Gavin had his fill of talking. “I don't know who got you that, and I don't have any guesses.”  ****  
** **

“Pft. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of _detective_ android?” Scoffing, Reed grabbed for one of his jacket pockets, lifting the flap to stow the card inside. “Here. You can give that one to the next person you see needs a real cop.” ****  
** **

Nick bristled at the unwanted gesture and words. He didn't need Gavin, of all people, to remind him of his shortcomings. He knew them just fine, without having another person mocking him about it. “If that's all you wanted to say, please, let me go.”  ****  
** **

Knowing the man, he was never done talking until he decided he was. And wasn’t it just in keeping with this crummy day he didn’t let up? ****  
** **

Grinding his heel into the pinned feathers, Gavin stood up. “Why would I? Not every day we see this side of you. Where’s the waterworks and the trembling lip?” ****  
** **

Averting his eyes, Nick slumped forward a bit, trying his hardest to not do just that. What could he even say to get Gavin to back off? He already knew what to say to get himself upset. “Please, stop, Detective. I can't help you, with your cards.”  ****  
** **

“Yeah? Well, what about - ow!” ****  
** **

Wheeling around, away from the source of what had clocked him across the back of the head, Reed stepped away. ****  
** **

Blankfaced as ever, the RK900 stood between them. Somehow, it had landed and crept up on them without making a sound. ****  
** **

“What gives?!” ****  
** **

“I believe he asked you to stop. Repeatedly.” Without looking away, Conner nodded toward the watching squad room. “And your antics are distracting the other officers from their work.” ****  
** **

Nick gave the wing that Gavin had been stepping on an experimental wave, just to make sure nothing too bad had happened to it. Thankfully it seemed fine, just the tip dirty and feathers in disarray after the fact. After a moment he took another step behind Conner, the same way he did with the other RKs or Hank when facing a stressor.  ****  
** **

Intentionally or not, Conner had just proven himself a worthy wall to hide behind, no doubt. Anyone who would hit Gavin in the back of the head for him was worthy of a lot, in Nick's book at least.  ****  
** **

Taking in the sight, Gavin snorted. Here was one more defense buffer for him to keep watch for. ****  
** **

Conner didn’t waver, or glance behind him to appreciate the 800’s odd behavior. Wings hiked up, folded tightly, the prototype glared him down. “Perhaps you ought to try asking one of the patrol droid’s to surveill your desk in your absence? If whoever left the cards attempts anything else…” ****  
** **

Sneering, Reed switched targets. “Hmph. You sayin’ that to cover up the fact it was you, Nines? You pull some surprise landing out on the island, I wouldn’t be surprised if you already infiltrated the station prior to that. Impressive, for wearin’ that penguin suit.” ****  
** **

“You're grasping for straws,” Nick said, already more confident with the barrier between the two of them. “He didn't leave you any joke gift, Detective. None of us did, and we've all told you that.”  ****  
** **

“A _confession_ would be nice, Eights.” ****  
** **

Unflinching, Conner flared one wing like paying out a curtain, further hiding his counterpart from view. “Then I suggest you broaden your search methods, Detective. No one here seems inclined to answer you, with that surly demeanor.” ****  
** **

He couldn't help but give a huff of amusement at that. Not many were willing to directly engage with Gavin, not even out of fear, but more so because they grew tired of him. For Conner to put what mostly everyone had been thinking about him for awhile into words… was pretty refreshing.  ****  
** **

Apparently, it worked. Reed’s expression scrunched in defeat, but he didn’t balk in putting a hand on the RK900’s shoulder, muscling him aside. “Buzz off. You’re between me and my chair,” he muttered, resuming his post to grab a nearby folder. ****  
** **

The rest of the active room seemed to turn away in kind. With no chance of a visible blowup actually happening, their interest waned almost immediately. ****  
** **

_And my name is not Nines._ ****  
** **

Piece said, the prototype stalked away without a backwards look. ****  
** **

Face still twisted in annoyance, Reed didn’t bother to refute it. ****  
** **

Nick thought about sending him a private thank you, but with the way he walked off, it probably wasn't wanted at the moment. Enough time spent with Connor gave him an understanding of when androids didn't want certain deeds, that had certain connotations, to be brought up again. At least in suffering this ingress he had found one important piece of information out.  ****  
** **

Conner didn't like the nickname Nines. At least Nick knew that, for the future.  ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Roughly thirty minutes after the near-altercation with Reed, Anderson pulled one of the earmuff speakers off to give a suggestion. “There’s a body you’re supposed to be investigatin’, right? Why don’t you go do that?” ****  
** **

Rain kept lashing the windows. Tracking the drops and the patterns they left on the glass, Connor found this low-power activity was keeping him preoccupied enough. ****  
** **

They were still waiting on CyberLife. Even if the weather hadn’t grounded them, their orders were to stay put. ****  
** **

No matter how uncomfortable it made their law enforcement colleagues. Nick could pick up the slack there as he saw fit. Dennis could spend time idly conversing with (or “chatting up”) the prototype receptionist - what was its designation again? ****  
** **

“We have to wait,” Nick explained to him, always eager to set anyone at ease if he could. “Until CyberLife gets back to us. Hopefully soon, though. They usually don't take very long.”  ****  
** **

“Hasn’t been much usual about today,” Anderson states. Pulling the other speaker off, he let the set curl around his neck, simultaneously muting the MP3 player. “Your new friend, it seems to be his specialty.” ****  
** **

“He's just as surprised, really. When we first spoke, he said we weren't supposed to meet this way. You were sorta right, Hank. He's just - caught off guard right now.” Or, at least that was Nick's take on the situation. One could wonder how much of his optimism was coloring the events for him.  ****  
** **

Off guard. _Was_ the RK900 telling the truth? Or was it feigning, carrying out some special direction CyberLife had not deigned to share with its three 800s? ****  
** **

Connor switched focus from the raindrops to the shadows their tracks cast along the floor, cubicle wall, and his own unmoving form. For now, keeping quiet and letting his fellows speculate seemed best. ****  
** **

So long as Dennis didn’t pull any more archived sitcom routines out of his databanks. ****  
** **

Hank hummed in thought. “Has he said much else? I can see he’s got itchy feet about being here, told he can’t touch anything related to active cases.” ****  
** **

“Not a whole lot more. He told Gavin off, when he wouldn't let me go.” At that Nick probably couldn't help but smirk, remembering the event. “Smacked him right upside the head for that.”  ****  
** **

“So he doesn’t care for bullies and blowhards. All right, that’s one more positive point to him.” ****  
** **

Overlooking the scene as he was at the time, alone amidst the perches, Connor hadn’t seen a hero diving in to save anyone. He saw a standard intervention routine, meant to remove a disturbance from a working environment. ****  
** **

Perhaps it was one time he should have stepped in. ****  
** **

But at the same time, he didn’t know if it was his place to, then and there. ****  
** **

Did he do the right thing, staying out of it? Or should he have assumed control? ****  
** **

Even as he puzzled, his unseen company kept trading points. ****  
** **

“Exactly. And you can't hold it against him that CyberLife sprung him on us, Hank. They did the same with him, in reverse. It'll just take some time, for everyone to adjust again.”  ****  
** **

“And I’m not sayin’ don’t give him a chance. It’s… I dunno. I thought you prototypes were all supposed to be unique.” ****  
** **

Personable as ever, Nick gave him a sympathetic smile, shrugging at the words in agreement. “That's what we thought too, yeah. It's weird, I can agree, that him and Connor look so similar. …Did I tell you his name yet, by the way? It's Conner, but with an E instead of O. …We'll see if he decides he does want a nickname later on.”  ****  
** **

“Well… I can’t say that’s weirder than four guys in my graduating class happened to all be named Caleb. But the different last names helped, besides havin’ different faces.” ****  
** **

And out of a class of what size? The ratio - ****  
** **

Venting a sharp sigh, Connor blinked. The comparison didn’t need dissecting. ****  
** **

Nick stole a glance over at him, head cocked to the side to try and tell what his expression was before turning back to Hank. “At least they have different colored eyes, though. If they didn't, then I would get really confused.”  ****  
** **

A thoughtful pause later, Anderson spoke up at a slightly louder volume than before: “Neither probably likes us talkin’ about them, when they’re standing less than spitting distance away. Don’t you have anything to say on this, Connor?” ****  
** **

Oh, plenty. ****  
** **

But it was too much to delve into in one sitting. ****  
** **

Folding his arms, along with his wings against his shoulders, the displaced primary kept his glare aimed at the floor. The squiggly rain shadows kept snaking. “It’s all speculation, Lieutenant. I don’t want to presume I know CyberLife’s intentions with this… unscheduled release. Pending further orders… I don’t know.” ****  
** **

It wasn’t a phrase he was too keen on using. But in this case, it was all he could think to sum up his position. ****  
** **

Thankfully, Nick wasn’t one to rub it in. ****  
** **

“None of us do, yeah. …Hopefully they decide to call us back, soon.”  ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

‘Soon’ turned out to be a whole three hours, twelve minutes, and two seconds since the first call was placed. By then, Nick was the one wearing the headphones (to his delight; the lieutenant had promised to show him how they operated when downtime found them), Dennis had won several straight rounds of spider solitaire, and Connor - still standing behind the cubicle wall - had virtually tracked enough raindrops to fill a forty-gallon fish tank. ****  
** **

Considering who gave the word, emotionlessly as if it were reciting from a telegraph, Lieutenant Anderson promptly stomped away and pushed open the door to Captain Fowler’s office. ****  
** **

The RK900, no more ruffled than before by this flustered, blustery reaction, raised an eyebrow at the three older prototypes. ****  
** **

By the way it said next to nothing, clearly it hadn’t counted on Hank flat-out rejecting the news he was to accompany it to a latently-reported crime scene. ****  
** **

Dennis, seated behind the computer, broke the awkward quiet first: “I suppose… he didn’t count on this possibility?” ****  
** **

Nick, with the headphones half slid off his ears at the other desk, folded his arms and put his head down on them. “Like at the bar, at first. He didn't like us, right? He just… needs some time, Conner. Don't worry.”  ****  
** **

Ear drawn at the sound of (what he thought was) his own name, Connor shot a glance around the cubicle’s corner. ****  
** **

_The lieutenant doesn’t approve? That’s the element that least ‘worries’ it, Nick._ ****  
** **

Nick glanced at him and shrugged, even with his low position. _He could be worried about it, Connor, I dunno. If he is, then it doesn't hurt to try and help with that. I know I would want someone to tell me it was gonna be okay._ ****  
** **

_Does it seem to you like it_ needs _reassurance? The calm exterior isn’t hiding any turmoil underneath. I did a scan - the stress levels are a flat zero._ ****  
** **

_Oh._ He turned away a bit to give Conner a half-lidded one over before shrugging again. _Well, it's always nice to reassure someone when you can. Hopefully Hank and him will at least tolerate each other, today._ ****  
** **

Matter settled for the moment, Connor glanced past him. There wasn’t so much muffled yelling emitting from the captain’s office as there were very animated hand gestures happening, from both sides of the desk. ****  
** **

Idly, the RK900 joined in on the unspoken speculation. ****  
** **

_Lieutenant Anderson… he isn’t one for change, it seems._ ****  
** **

_He's not,_ Nick answered back first, always eager to include anyone in a conversation. _He wasn't happy with us at first either, though. It'll just take him some time to adjust._ ****  
** **

_We had it easy, by comparison._ Dennis admitted, looking up from his myriads of cards. _Finding him at a bar - paying for his next round curried some favor._ ****  
** **

_...You purchased him an intoxicant before responding to the scene of a homicide?_ ****  
** **

The 900 didn’t have to put on much of a tone to convey its disapproval. ****  
** **

_It worked, at least. … Someone else thought about spilling his drink, but thankfully we decided to try and get some brownie points with him instead of needle him._ ****  
** **

Dennis scoffed at the perpetually guarded stare the words were met with. _He means it helped us establish rapport. The lieutenant may have his vices, but he’s still a qualified policeman._ ****  
** **

Vices. ****  
** **

Now there was a word Conner could latch onto without much second guessing. By the way the gray eyes quirked toward the cluttered desk, and it’s various distractions, he did the math in short order. ****  
** **

_Habits… that you three are steadily integrating into your own routines. Of your own volition? Or is it another tact you’ve adopted to seem more amenable?_ ****  
** **

_It's just stuff we like,_ Nick explained, before correcting himself. _Or, I guess, for me it is._ ****  
** **

_…But not you?_ ****  
** **

Tempting as it was to look away, Connor held his counterpart’s gaze. _I don’t share their tendencies to adopt such proclivities. My focus is on our tenure here… and keeping an eye on these two._ ****  
** **

Squinting, the 900 tilted its head. _You say that as though they_ need _to be watched. Weren’t they built with the same independently-functional purpose in mind?_ ****  
** **

_…Why do you think our programmers have subjected us to this testing phase?_ ****  
** **

Leaning back in his seat, Dennis glanced sidelong between them. _Meaning, is this how it’s gonna be - you two, trading never-ending questions?_ ****  
** **

_Better than arguments, Dennis. Questions, I'll take that over yelling any day of the week._ ****  
** **

And just as a means to illustrate the words, the office door opened. Anderson held it ajar in one hand. With the other, he pointed back at his immediate superior. “And _that’ll_ be the end of it, Jeffrey, like it or not!” ****  
** **

Giving a sigh, Nick shoved the headphones back over his ears and closed his eyes, effectively shutting himself out of any upcoming discussions.  ****  
** **

Closing the solitaire window, Dennis hastily stood up. It was Anderson’s chair, originally. ****  
** **

Sighing, half in a growl, the lieutenant marched back to the cubicle to snatch his coat from where it had been draped over the wall. “Sorry, boys. Looks like you’ve been benched.” ****  
** **

In basketball terminology, this wasn’t considered an acceptable turn of events. Connor had enough of a grasp on human sports, and the competition enacted through them, to understand Hank’s meaning. ****  
** **

Catching his eye, Anderson shrugged. “I gave Fowler my two cents all the same. I had to make it at least _look_ like this is upsetting.” ****  
** **

“What’s the situation, sir?” Dennis asked, looking more puzzled by the moment. “If there’s anything we can do to assist, you only have to say.” ****  
** **

“You can do what the company says. That’s assistance enough - I don’t have to worry what you kids are gettin’ into while I’m away. Gonna have enough of a time keeping up with you.” Pulling his coat on, Hank glowered at the RK900. “First time out, officially - we’ll see if you’re all CyberLife says you are.” ****  
** **

Unmoved, the prototype nodded. “Understood, Lieutenant.” ****  
** **

“Good luck, Hank,” Nick said, eyes still closed at the desk. “And you, too, Conner. See you later.”  ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Lieutenant Anderson’s desk might have looked chaotic to the unknowing eye. But that was no valid excuse here. The man really should learn to put away his access keys once finished with them. Leaving them lying out in plain view was no deterrent when a certain CyberLife prototype was feeling stung. ****  
** **

Waiting perhaps a minute after they departed, Connor grabbed the evidence locker keycard. ****  
** **

Next, just as unannounced, he grabbed Nick out of his seat. ****  
** **

Giving a start, the headphones flew off and back onto the table. Nick let out a faint cry and turned around to give Connor a disbelieving look. “What're you doing?”  ****  
** **

Dennis frowned. Left out of the unfolding altercation, for better or worse, he had next to no idea. ****  
** **

Or some - uninformed as it was. ****  
** **

_The evidence locker - that’s where you had the courier sent, correct?_ ****  
** **

_Yes…_ Understanding where Connor was going, Nick narrowed his mismatched eyes at him. _I'm not sure Hank would like us doing that, Connor. But… if you really think it's a good idea, I'll go with you._ ****  
** **

_You logged the evidence. Your handprint is the one we need._ ****  
** **

Dennis’ wings twitched, uneasy. _You know the system will timestamp your presence there the moment you use the card._ ****  
** **

Connor let go of Nick’s arm. _Whatever downtime we must wait out, to make some sufficient use out of it would be preferable._ ****  
** **

Their second folded his arms, weight shifting to one leg. _Right. Sure you’re not just bending the rules a tad on Charlie’s account here?_ ****  
** **

_Or because of…_ Glancing at the door where Hank and Conner had left, Nick quickly trailed off. _Well, I guess it doesn't matter, long as we're helping someone, Charlie included._ ****  
** **

Already resigned, Dennis quashed an urge to sigh. All three of them marching downstairs would’ve been too obvious a sign something was afoot. One of them would have to provide an alibi, were it asked about. It might as well be him. ****  
** **

Nick took an uneasy step toward the evidence lab, before looking back at Connor for direction. _Are we going now? Should… should get this done quick, I think. Else someone will notice._ ****  
** **

Without a word or look of confirmation, the primary stepped past him, walking purposefully toward the clouded-glass doors. ****  
** **

Sitting down, Dennis reluctantly booted the terminal back up. ****  
** **

And temporarily crossed his fingers beneath the desktop.

——- ****  
** **

Chin to chest, the offline courier hung from the magnetic peg like a discarded puppet. Half his slack face was covered in dried, unevaporated thirium. His once-flawless uniform has been torn and shredded about the torso and legs. His disconnected, battered wing components had been affixed to a hook directly beside him. ****  
** **

Even if he was only an android, same as him, Nick couldn't help but think it looked a bit gruesome, wincing as they took the sight in. Then again, he found most things to be gruesome, android or human.  ****  
** **

“What're you looking for?” he asked Connor, taking half a step back so his partner could examine it more closely. Really, he just came along because he was needed, and he felt sort of bad for Connor. It wasn’t everyday they were ordered to _not_ go to a crime scene.  ****  
** **

Pulling this one out of the proverbial file cabinet before it could go cold - he understood the impulse, if not the motivations. Autopsies of humans were one strictly-controlled matter. But unless they intervened soon enough, who knew? This courier might see no more attention than being written off as recovered stolen property, then relegated to the trash heap. ****  
** **

“Anything that may have been overlooked,” Connor eventually replied. ****  
** **

As he failed to elaborate on ‘anything’, that inevitably led to the next question. ****  
** **

“What type of stuff, though?” Nick continued to stay back, eyes slightly averted so he didn't have to look right at the body. “What are you hoping to find?”  ****  
** **

“Evidence of foul play.” The retort was equal parts flat and exasperated. “Anything that correlates what almost happened to Charlie. Several key components are damaged, besides virtually all of the thirium appearing to have been siphoned out. If I could only reactivate it, even for a short while, that’d be just long enough to read its memory drive.” ****  
** **

Their misfortune to not have a slew of spare parts just lying around. And a few pouches of blue blood. ****  
** **

“But… why doesn't he have any thirium left?” Nick asked, nose wrinkled at the description. Most androids that they found shut down, foul play or no, still had thirium left in them, even those that were viciously attacked. For Henry to have almost none, for Connor to say it was siphoned out of him… it was strange, to say the least. “Why would someone _want_ thirium, and for what?”  ****  
** **

“You’re assuming thirium is what the attackers _were_ after,” Connor pointed out. Delicately, he lifted one of Henry’s curled wrists, fingers caked with dirt and thirium, and turned it over. “But… this breach between the hypothenar and the thenar units, it looks as if something were inserted. There’s an identical wound in both wrists, as if a siphon cable were the cause.” ****  
** **

As if he knew what that meant, really. Nick was sure he could understand if he truly wanted to, but for now, the technical jargon flew right over his head. “Okay… um, what does that mean, though? Why would someone want to do that?”  ****  
** **

Connor shot him a look of utmost aggravation before letting Henry’s hand go. “At a guess, to facilitate red ice production. Or the rebagging of semi-processed thirium to cross-contaminate pure sources. There’s a black market for android blood and parts just as there is for humans. That it’s perpetrated _by_ humans is only one of the biggest ironies.” ****  
** **

“Do you think that's what they wanted Charlie for, as well?” Perhaps Nick was being a bit pestering, but wasn't asking questions a sign he was trying to learn, and better himself? Connor always did seem to want him to act more like him. “Because then, maybe they used a taser on Henry as well?”  ****  
** **

“If they did, the only signs would be recorded in his error backlog. And it’s inaccessible without reactivation.” Connor paused, seemingly grappling with a less appealing option before simply blurting it out: “Or… via dissection.” ****  
** **

“Oh, of course.” Because right, only way they could even see if such a thing happened was by dissecting Henry. No way that he or Connor were going to do such a thing, not for such a little answer, and certainly not at the risk of being caught in the evidence room, dismantling the body of a supposed ‘murder’ victim. Grimacing, Nick took another step away from him and the body. “Well, that's a miss, then. …Nothing else we can do?” ****  
** **

Connor frowned in thought. “The trespass call… Zug Island may be a fully automated facility. But it has roads. The stretch of land where the body was found, did you see any tire tracks? Footprints? …Before the RK900 drew it’s gun?” ****  
** **

Well… here came the point where he disappointed Connor. Really, Nick hadn't looked at nearly anything before coming upon Conner and the body of Henry, especially after noticing another android was on the scene. And then when the gun was pulled on him, his mind was really only attempting to calm himself down to answer the questions being lobbed at him, lest he be shot.  ****  
** **

“Honestly, I don't really know, Connor. I was focused on the trespass call, and then when I realized that Conner was there…” he trailed off, frowning as he did so. It didn't sound good of him, but then again, when did he ever really impress with his detective skills?  ****  
** **

“You saw nothing past staring down the barrel of a gun.” Despite probably feeling a very tempting urge to scoff, Connor glanced up at the dewinged, offline android hanging there, toes barely brushing the floor. “I’m sorry, Henry. We’ll have to pursue another avenue to find out what happened to you.” ****  
** **

“We will,” Nick tried to reassure him, arms crossed at what must have been another disappointment for Connor in such a short span of time. “Eventually. It'll just have to be some - other way.”  ****  
** **

“Not that he could, oh, I don’t know… perhaps queue up his own memory files for re-evaluation? Play them back like video clips on a computer.” Leaning a touch closer to the blue-blooded cadaver, enacting a bit of a stage whisper, Connor held the back of his hand up to his mouth. “I think he sometimes _forgets_ he’s an android.” ****  
** **

Nick grit his teeth at the act, turning around so he didn't have to look at Connor. First Dennis with his bizarrely seriously-unserious news. Then Gavin stepping on his wingtip. And now this? The day had been filled with enough jokes at his expense, more so than usual. “Don't worry, you make it _very_ hard to try and forget, Connor. If that's what you want me to do, then let's do it.”  ****  
** **

Without glancing back, he held out an arm. ****  
** **

Bare, white fingers clamped around his bicep, needlessly tight. He closed his eyes at the prickle of program connections activating. ****  
** **

Memory probing each other was not so routine. But if Connor was that desperate for a real, juicy clue, either in some attempt to reaffirm his validity or to further fulfill his promise to Charlie, suffering it just the once - it couldn’t be worse than Dennis leading him on with such dreadful news as deactivation, only to turn around and laugh it off. ****  
** **

Besides, it would help Connor's mood. Nick would do almost anything, jump through as many hoops as he had to, if only to stop the teasing for the day. Even though they had met only hours ago, starting with a gun being pointed at him, Nick almost preferred the idea of Conner's company at the moment.  ****  
** **

At least the prototype didn’t seem to have it in him to be so dastardly deviant.


End file.
